Moments wither lovely
Moments wither lovely, in sultry evenings
where you sat, your eyes gazing at mine
and the smell of your hair carried the dust and pollen
weakening my swansong
in the attic of our collective desire.
Moments wither lovely, I hear them falling like dead flowers
I count the stolen kisses and caress them.
I shut my eyes and count again one last time
and then stare at the blue void.
Moments wither lovely, in this empty room
without a lip to kiss mine.
Quid pro quo
If you say it with a kiss, I shall too,
smear a kiss on your forehead
and sing you a lullaby
and in departing footsteps
leave fragments of the night
on crumpled bed sheets
and sometimes on love's tender sigh.
If you dream, in thousand years,
I shall too, settle between your eyes
and dream some more and wake you up
to mayonnaise mornings,
coffee beans crackling in kitchen
and drink some more,
then dream some more
in clamoring wakefulness
of jostling Mondays on the brim.
If I let you burn,
I burn some more
in the austerity of funeral pyre
and sometime in love's own gas chambers
and sometimes burn some more in Swaha's fire
coughing out poison smoke in incessant fights
spiraling to heaven in crimson dusk
in farewells and elegies of love-bites.
Perhaps an imaginarium
Somewhere in my absence
my life rumbles.
In my presence
it sleeps, like Goldilocks
on the bear bed
frightened when awake.
Moisture eyes, oyster tongue
we wake up becoming
our mornings, smelling
soaked tea leaves
and gingerbread cookies.
In dreamscape grandfather clocks
melt on barren lands,
on ungreen grass.
We soon become our longings
waking up like shipwrecked sailors
on tidal shores sometimes,
sometimes on impossible waves.